Chapter Title: Viable Targets
Author: Sam
Story: The Omega Trials: 29 of ?
Series: The Omega Rights (part two)
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Setting: AU: December, 16, 1991; Wednesday, May 24, 1995, Wednesday, December 31, 1997 and Monday, March 9, 2009: United States of America, Russia, and Odessa, Ukraine
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WARNING: Murder, Graphic Violence, Dissociation
Translations:
"Сержант Джеймс Барнс, три два пять пять семь ноль три восемь." - Russian - "Sergeant James Barnes, three two five five seven zero three eight."
"Циљање одрживо." - Serbian - "Target viable."
"Приветствую Вас, учитель." - Russian - "Greetings, teacher."
"Готовьтесь, учитель." - Russian - "Ready, teacher."
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Setting: AU: Monday, December 16. 1991: United States of America
The Winter Wolf watched as the sleek light colored vehicle sped down the mostly abandoned road. He briefly wondered why the targets would use such a road while carrying such valuable cargo. It made it easier on his team but put the targets in more danger, a lot less likely for anyone to come to their rescue. His pale eyes, the only feature of his face visible over the light grey filtering mask, scanned the area, hearing the two motorcycles gearing up behind the vehicle. Suddenly, the vehicle's tire blew as the Winter Soldier aimed a well-placed shot at the front passenger's side tire and sent the car straight into a tree, metal crunching filling the air along the barren road.
The Winter Wolf watched as the Winter Soldier disembarked his motorcycle, his handler, Predan, disembarking the second identical bike. Crouching down in the foliage, scanning the surroundings to make sure no other travelers wandered upon the scene, the trained assassin moved his eyes to his team members as they approached the wrecked vehicle.
Predan, dressed in the same combat gear as the Soldier, sharply ordered, "secure the package, no witnesses!" He didn't move from the spot next to his bike.
Not responding, the lean figure in black and dark grey tactical gear headed for the trunk of the car. He wrenched open the metal trunk lid, revealing a rather thick briefcase or secured box. Ignoring the figure of a white-haired man covered in blood and disfigured from the accident, the Winter Soldier popped open the storage container and examined the individual pouches of vibrant glowing blue liquid nestled there in protective formed foam. He looked for signs of discoloration, damage, or leaking.
The driver's car door opened and the white haired man with a neatly trimmed mustache fell out of the car and started crawling alongside the vehicle.
Looking over the bags of fluid, the Winter Soldier continued ignoring the man. Satisfied his goal had not been damaged in the destruction of the vehicle, he closed the case and picked it up, backing from the trunk. Glancing over at the crawling, broken figure, the Winter Soldier frowned. He turned, walked over to his motorcycle, and secured the case carefully to the bike. Turning once finished, he slid his rifle from the bike holster and walked towards the creeping man.
Looking up, blood staining his features from injuries sustained during the crash, the man kept muttering, "please . . . not my wife . . . not my wife . . ." Howard Stark looked up at the Winter Soldier and a look of dread and then acceptance fell over his face, "Sergeant . . . Barnes . . ."
Kneeling on the pavement on one knee, the Winter Soldier gently brushed blood from the man's face. Softly, in a monotone voice, he said, "Howard Stark. Inventor and dealer in weapons of mass destruction. Viable target." He lifted a pistol and placed the barrel directly against Howard's forehead.
"Please . . . Barnes, not my wife, she's a civilian. Has nothing . . . to do with this," Howard begged, knowing it was pointless to beg for his own life at that point. "Bucky . . . please?"
Eyes flickering over the broken, bleeding man on the tarmac, the Winter Soldier said, "target dying . . ."
"Soldier . . ." Predan called out, a warning tone in his voice.
Howard's eyes rolled to look at Predan and then back at the Winter Soldier, "Bucky . . . please, my wife . . . she doesn't even know what we were delivering."
"Elimination of target," the Winter Soldier intoned. "No witnesses." He slid the pistol away and reached down, without looking, picking up a fist sized rock. With precision, he brought it down on Howard's head, cracking the man's skull, without so much as a flinch for the destruction he caused the man who he'd called friend. Howard had offered him a job once, on a flying car project; but that had been tabled indefinitely once Bucky then Steve had been lost to war. Now, it would never be reopened. Blood and brain matter had spattered over the WInter Soldier's tac uniform and exposed skin.
Carefully, the Soldier picked up the man under the arms and dragged him back to the driver's seat of the destroyed vehicle. He slid the man inside and glanced over at the woman in the passenger seat with steady pale blue eyes.
The woman, who was beginning to rouse, called out for her husband, "Howard . . ." She let out a soft cry as she watched the Winter Soldier place her limp husband against the steering wheel.
"Stark is dead," the Soldier replied in a neutral tone. He studied the woman, her head bleeding from hitting the windshield.
Maria Stark let out a very soft noise, her head falling back against the headrest. She didn't plead for her life, seeming to accept her fate.
Slowly, the Winter Soldier straightened out of the driver's side of the car and walked around the front of the vehicle, as well as the tree it had smashed into. He forced open the door to the passenger side and studied the woman. "Stark, Maria. Civilian." He studied her pinned body. Softly, he added, "non-life threatening injuries." Turning, leaving the door open, the Soldier began to leave the woman in the car, heading for his motorcycle.
"Soldier!" Predan hissed, sounding angry, "no witnesses!"
Stopping, not even glancing towards their young witness, the Soldier stared at Predan, as if trying to translate the words. He let his eyes rove up and down the other man, as he had with both Howard and Maria Stark before. Without a word, he stepped towards his motorcycle once more.
Stepping directly up to the Soldier, Predan barked, "no witnesses! Comply!" He cursed the Winter Soldier in his native Serbian, a string of insulting, demeaning words. He switched to heavily accented Russian, a pair of trigger words to try and get the Soldier to comply.
Blinking, processing the words, the accent, the insults, the Winter soldier replied, "target not viable. Civilian."
Growling, Predan pulled out his pistol and held it directly at the Soldier's forehead, "kill the witness, Soldier!"
Staring, unblinking, at Predan, the Soldier began to speak in Russian. "Сержант Джеймс Барнс, три два пять пять семь ноль три восемь." He turned towards his bike and reached for the handlebars.
Swearing under his breath, Predan aimed with a steady hand and pulled the trigger, sending the Winter Soldier flying to the ground like a limp rag doll, the man not even bothering, or unable, to catch himself as blood poured from a wound across the back of his head. Predan glanced to the camera that had been filming the mission, thankfully not centered on what had been happening between handler and Asset. He reached down, grabbed Bucky's mask from where it hung around his neck but not covering his face, and pulled it from the unresisting, yet alert, man. Predan slid the mask over his own mouth, looking much more generically Winter Soldier, and strode deliberately to the passenger side of the car. He reached in and gripped Maria Stark's neck with a deadly strength that denoted his own daily serum doses. Predan held on, Maria choking and gasping for breath, until suddenly she fell silent.
Once satisfied Maria was dead, Predan faced the camera and shot out the lense just as the Winter Wolf came running out of the tree line.
"What did you do?" The younger man shouted at Predan as he skidded to his knees right by the Winter Soldier's bleeding form. He placed his fingers on the Soldier's neck, letting out a breath of relief when he felt a pulse.
Predan growled and wrenched the Winter Wolf away from the Soldier, causing the younger man to fall flat on his ass. "You dare question my command?" He hissed, leaning down to stare right in TJ's face.
"When you shoot a fellow soldier in the back of the head? You're damn right I question you!" TJ snapped in return, his hands covered in Bucky's blood. He moved to try and stem the steady bleeding from the wound but Predan pulled him back again, backhanding the brunet so hard that he collapsed to the side.
"You listen to me, breeder!" Predan hissed, gripping TJ's curls in his hand and wrenching his head back. "You and the Soldier are nothing! You are tools! Weapons! You do not get an opinion! You comply!" Predan smacked TJ across the face again, blood beginning to run from his nose, TJ's mask having been smacked off with the force of Predan's hit. "Now, you will get on your bike and we will go back to base. Comply or I will shoot the Soldier in the back of head again, with no chance of survival." To emphasize the point, Predan pulled out his pistol again and aimed it at Bucky's limp form.
Pale eyes moving from Predan's face to the Soldier's body, TJ slowly nodded and grabbed his mask from the dirt and put it on; his nose was most likely broken. He got up from the ground and made his way back to his own motorcycle up in the trees.
Growling under his breath, Predan scooped up Bucky's limp body, not struggling at all with the Soldier's deadweight. He set the body across the bike, strapping Bucky down so he wouldn't fall off. Turning back towards his own motorcycle, Predan cursed in Serbian; this mission had gone to hell. Walking up to his bike, Predan hit his comm unit and said, "package extracted. Need clean up. Coming back to base."
Predan knew the team would deal with his bike, so he maneuvered onto the bike with Bucky limply hanging over it. He revved the engine and took off, having to go slower than he liked due to the uneven weight of the Winter Soldier hanging over it.
The Winter Wolf and Predan managed to make it to a safe house. He ordered TJ to grab the case of the serum and picked up Bucky himself. He carried the Soldier into the safe house and straight to the expensive, replica chair, TJ following behind him, looking thunderous.
Predan practically tossed Bucky into the chair, growling at a tech, "the Wolf argued with me on scene! Put the entire mission at risk! Deal with that!" Shooting a glare towards Bucky's limp body, Predan added, "and that piece of excrement refused to actually do the mission! Erase him, with extreme prejudice! He doesn't even need to remember the pup."
A technician scurried over to Bucky's limp form, a second heading for TJ's. The first examined the bloody shot the Winter Soldier had taken to the back of his head and whispered, in horror, "what did you do to him? Paralyze him?"
The second, afraid to look over his medical charge, held his breath, waiting for the worst. To one of the other techs, he whispered harshly, "how is she? Will she survive?"
Glancing up quickly at the technician, the assistant corrected, "the Assets are both male."
Wrinkling his nose, the second technician replied, "not if she can breed, she's not."
Predan laughed, cruelly, and looked towards TJ to see his acceptance of such comments.
TJ's brows furrowed and he looked confused, unsure what the hell the technicians were talking about. He still held the case of the very sought after Super Soldier serum. "I . . . I cannot breed?" His voice was slightly muffled by the mask.
Predan strode up to TJ and gave his chest a push. "All you are good for, you fucking woman-wanna-be, is for popping out babies like some dog. You're a bitch in continual heat, you useless bitch!"
"Lessons not given in breeding, Sir," TJ murmured, trying to behave so Bucky wouldn't get hurt worse, "I am a Fist of Hydra . . . I perform tactical missions . . ."
Snorting, Predan shook his head and snorted in disgust, "fucking pussy of Hydra."
The first technician, checking on Bucky, seemed relieved and looked up as Bucky rose to his feet, blood coating the back of his head. "Oh, thank God. You only grazed him!" He tried to strip Bucky of the tactical gear he wore.
TJ looked relieved as he was stripped of his uniform as well, his broken and bleeding nose revealed when the technician removed his mask. He'd been worried that Bucky would die, but it seemed that Bucky was fine.
"That defective piece of shit compromised the entire mission! I had to step in. He's a liability. Wipe him!" Predan growled. "Wipe them both! He's trained the boy to be just like him! If I didn't receive my own daily doses, I'd have been slaughtered! In a few years of cold existence he may stabilize. I can wait."
As the technicians had been tending TJ or turned towards Predan, no one noticed the Winter Soldier's stealthy movements until it was too late to interfere. Like a hunting cat, Bucky had the knife in his hand, pulling it from up his sleeve. His arm whipping out, sharp blade slicing easily across Predan's neck, Bucky never changed his expression or body posture; only his left arm moving with stealth and speed.
A wash of hot blood covered everything within ten feet, spraying the scientists and both Assets in the thick, warm crimson cloak of death. Predan's head hit the ground with a soft thunk and rolled a bit.
TJ took a stunned step back, pale eyes wide and standing out sharply against the dark blood that covered his face. It didn't even seem to register what exactly had happened. His eyes moved down to look at Predan's body and the head that had rolled a few feet away. Bucky had just killed Predan!
Several screams ripped from technicians and scientists and three men slammed the unresisting Winter Soldier into the chair and began strapping him down. Guards rushed in with drawn weapons, but the Asset never fought the terrifying, soul wrenching chair. He easily let them shove him into the seat of the torture device. A feral grin spread over the Winter Soldier's face, eyes lighting with unholy glee, and, in perfectly clear, unaccented Serbian, he said, "Циљање одрживо." Target viable.
The chair hummed to life.
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Setting: AU: Wednesday, May 24, 1995: Russia
A slender red-haired girl stood poised, body held loose and at the ready. She'd been training her entire life for this chance to join the secret Soviet program called The Red Room. It was the most elite program in the Soviet schooling system, and Natalia Alianova Romanoff wanted this program more than she'd ever wanted anything before in her young life. The ten year old ignored the other candidates, the ones who had gotten picked from families and homes with friends. She was an orphan and would be on the streets if she hadn't been chosen for the pre-program of this training.
The door opened and she glanced over, using only her eyes, not moving her head or breaking discipline. One of the reasons she had been selected to try out at such a young age was for her ability to hide her emotions and for her complete control of her own body. She held herself very disciplined and remote.
The Winter Wolf, dressed in his full combat gear including the grey filtering mask, walked in behind his handler, Frank Rumlow; Frank had taken over as TJ's handler after his father, Demonto Rumlow had retired. The trained assassin walked with a graceful, yet deadly, stride and his pale eyes scanned the young girls lined up in front of them.
Frank, tall and well-built, looked over the crop of girls, raising one eyebrow at the sight of the undersized redhead. He barked out, "this is the training selection for The Red Room. The selectees are hand chosen." He turned his glare on the ten year old. "Those who are not authorized will go back to their dormitories this instant."
Staying back, a few steps behind Frank, arms held behind the small of his back and feet shoulder length apart, the Winter Wolf remained in the trained pose, awaiting orders.
Natalia didn't respond. She was authorized so he didn't need her response unless he directly confronted her. Her eyes, however, did follow the man behind the talker. He looked young, as well, and had faraway eyes, as if he pulled out of this world for some reason. She knew the feeling, doing the same thing everyday to be able to ignore the sneers, taunts, and hits of the older girls in the boarding home.
Frank stopped right in front of Natalia and crossed his arms, glaring at the little girl. "Out," he barked. "You don't belong here."
She held out a slip of paper, proving her selection for this process. The man snatched it and read the paper from the headmistress. He passed it back to his Asset. "Show this child why she shouldn't be here, Winter Wolf."
Pale eyes flickering to study his handler for a moment, TJ nodded once and stepped out of pose. He beckoned the small girl to follow him, not once speaking, and then turned towards the training mat.
Natalia followed the young, masked man, back straight and proud but body loose and ready. She stepped to the mat, not on it, and watched the Winter Wolf carefully, eyes intelligent.
"Come," TJ barked, his voice rough as if from disuse and muffled by the mask, but the order and tone were clear. He pointed to the spot right in front of him.
The girl stepped up beside him and greeted him in soft Russian, very well pronounced, none of the slurring or slang of her normal age group. "Приветствую Вас, учитель."
TJ's eyes slid over to Frank once more, knowing his handler preferred him to speak English in his presence. Eyes moving back to the girl, TJ nodded once and got into the starting position for a spar. He didn't question that fact that he towered over the young girl or the fact that he was dressed in full, protective combat gear. His pale eyes met the girl's, hardly any life in them at all.
Nodding once, she positioned herself for sparring, centering her eyes on his chest then abdomen then face once more. "Готовьтесь, учитель."
The Wolf didn't waste any time after her confirmation, moving with a speed that was impossible for any normal man. He didn't take it easy on the young girl, either, not trying to kill her by any means but treating her as an equal opponent rather than a girl so much younger, and most likely, far less skilled.
The girl fought well, far stronger than most her age. She used her small frame and flexibility to her advantage, as well as her gymnastics and dancing background. Natalia flipped herself up the Wolf's back, using his body as a springboard, and landed on his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his neck and squeezing with her thighs.
Letting out a growl behind his mask, TJ grabbed Natalia's body and forced her off his shoulders, bringing her down to the mat with a hard thud. He straddled her and kept her pinned with one strong arm, his pale eyes piercing down at her over his mask.
Frank sighed and said, "let her up, Wolf. Come here."
Immediately releasing the young girl, the Wolf stood up and turned his back on Natalia as he made his way back to his handler.
Natalia stood and moved back to her spot in the line up, the older girls smirking at her.
Frank leaned close and whispered, "assessment."
"She is a strong fighter and knows how to use her body to her advantage. With training she will serve her purpose very well," the Wolf answered easily.
"She's an infant," Frank growled softly, shooting a glare at the child.
"So was I. I was only five when I started training," TJ replied easily, his eyes fixed on the little girl.
"If," Frank sighed, "you feel she is worth training, you may choose her. You are allowed five to select for the program."
"I want her in the program, Sir," TJ confirmed with a nod, moving his head to look at Frank once more. "The other four you can pick."
"You will train those I pick?" Frank sounded amused. "Without putting them through final selection testing?"
"I will do as you order, Sir," TJ bowed his head slightly.
"Then, I order you to try a combat maneuver or two against each girl so I can judge her ability." Frank grinned wickedly, eyes never leaving TJ's.
Nodding once, TJ stepped back onto the mat, gesturing for the first girl in the line to step up.
Looking confident, feeling she could do much better than a baby ten year old orphan, the first girl stepped up.
Later, after each girl had been tested, several trying to duplicate Natalia's moves and failing for being too heavy and cumbersome or not fast and flexible enough, Frank called a halt, frowning. He glared at TJ, as if the Asset had been the one to fail him.
TJ, after besting the last girl in a pitiful three seconds, stepped back and fell back into his posture of his hands behind his back and feet shoulder length apart. "All possibles tested."
The handler rolled his eyes, "I see that. There were only two worth taking. This year is pathetic. I see why the headmistress sent a child to compete, if the older girls are this clumsy." Frank selected four girls, and nodded to Natalia. "And the infant." He led the selections past the rejects and through the door into a red corridor. "Wolf, you will train them to be Black Widows. Only those worthy will make it through the four year program to compete with you in the end. The others will be put in the school instead."
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Setting: AU: Wednesday, December 31, 1997: Russia
The Winter Wolf looked at the single girl that had made it through the intense four years of training to be a Black Widow. The only one that remained, not to TJ's surprise, was Natalia, who was only thirteen but ready for her final exam. She had to best him in a match. If she did that, she would be considered a Black Widow. Once again, TJ stepped into the center of the room, no mat this time, just the cold, hard cement floor below them. He glanced at Frank out of the corner of his eye, the handler never far away, and then back at Natalia, dressed in her training uniform.
The young teen, still very slender, still not tall, barely beginning to develop, stepped up to the central area and waited, checking over TJ's strength points then meeting his eyes. She looked as emotionless, as calm and controlled, as she had the entire time the Winter Wolf had trained her.
"Begin," Frank called.
TJ's fingers tapped once against his thigh before he charged at the young girl, moving with speed and strength. This time, he did move with the intent to harm Natalia, which was expected of him. He needed to act like a true enemy, a true enemy with the intent to kill. Using his enhanced speed, the Wolf quickly wrapped his arm around her neck from behind.
Again, utilizing her small size to her advantage, Natalia kicked backwards with force, right into TJ's groin, then flipped over backwards, twisting, to land on his shoulders, thighs squeezing at his neck as she squeezed his head with her hands, digging her nails into the temples and cheeks.
Letting out a near feral sounding growl as her nails cut into his skin, the Wolf grabbed at Natalia, attempting to flip her off his shoulders. When he couldn't get her off, feeling blood begin to run down his face from the scratches, TJ backpedalled until both of their backs slammed against the thick concrete wall.
Letting go, Natalia hung limp on the Wolf's back, as if knocked unconscious.
Letting out a breath, TJ stepped away from the wall and released Natalia, letting her fall unheaded from his back. Having played possum, the girl flipped back up and once more started choking the Wolf, clawing at his face and neck as well as closing her strong thighs around his neck, heels pressing against his sternum, threatening to break his chest plate if he hadn't been in tac gear.
The Wolf made a gasping, almost panicked noise behind his mask and collapsed to the ground, rolling, as he tried to get free of Natalia's hold. He bucked and attempted to slam the young girl back against the floor below them, legs kicking uselessly as his body went into panic from the cut off of air.
"Enough!" Frank called, anger in his eyes.
Natalia instantly rolled off the Asset and stood. She then knelt down and checked on TJ, but Frank yelled, "back off, girl!" Obeying instantly, Natalia stepped back against the wall.
Stepping over to TJ, Frank looked down and frowned intensely. Suddenly, he drew back his foot and kicked the Wolf's head, hard, dislodging the mask and goggles, revealing his pretty features and brunet curls. "Imbecile!"
TJ, too stunned, didn't even make a noise as he was kicked in the head. He tried to push up to his knees but the room spun and he collapsed again. The Wolf, instinctively, tried to get away from his handler to avoid being hurt more. He started to drag himself away from Frank.
"You let a baby beat you up?" Frank kicked TJ's side then his ass, sending the Wolf skidding on the cement floor.
"Widow . . . passed . . . exam . . ." The Wolf gasped through bloodstained teeth. His side throbbed as much as his head but he attempted to push up to all fours once more.
"You disgust me, Asset. You gave her the win. She will find her next instructors not so easy." The handler grabbed TJ's collar and dragged him from the room, ignoring the widening eyes of the red-haired teen left behind.
A woman walked over to Natalia and softly said, "congratulations. You are now ready for the ceremony." She studied the teen then added, "it is necessary." The teen hid her fears as she followed the woman from the room.
Frank continued to drag the Winter Wolf down the hall to the chamber with the chair, still stained with the blood of Predan and Winter Soldier. He tossed TJ at the chair and growled. "I should erase you, you fucking shit!"
Swallowing thickly, trying to gain his balance even though his world continued to spin, TJ looked at the dried, crusty blood of Predan and the Winter Soldier, who he'd been told had been punished too severely and had died in this very chair. Shaking his head, the right side completely covered in his own blood from the hit he'd sustained from Frank, he said, "I . . . I am . . . sorry . . . Sir."
Growling, Frank said, "why'd you let that child best you, a Winter Soldier?"
Shaking his head again, the Wolf answered, "I . . . I didn't . . ."
Leaning close, Frank said, "do you know what we will do to her now, Winter Wolf?" He grinned widely, "in the ceremony, she will be given a mix of chemicals to neutralize her Omega status. She will be an infertile Gamma, never to have a mate or a child. You did that for her. Congratulations, Scum."
TJ closed his eyes, letting his head fall. He'd known that Natalia would've been punished severely had she'd failed, and he knew that he could take whatever beating that Frank dished out for his own failure. He never would have thought they'd sterilize Natalia if she'd won. "I . . . I . . ." The Wolf couldn't even seem to find the right words, feeling guilt build up in his chest.
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Setting: AU: Monday, March 9, 2009: Odessa, Ukraine and Russia
Crouching down on a cliff that overlooked the winding road below him, the Winter Wolf let his eyes scan over the road as he waited for his target. He pulled his rifle from off his back and positioned himself. He tapped his comm unit in his ear and reported, "in position. Target inbound?"
His handler's voice responded, sounding neutral, "inbound. ETA in fifteen, Wolf." The new handler had just taken over the WInter Wolf's handling that past summer, after his own father, Frank, had retired. Brock Rumlow wasn't as volatile as his father or grandfather, apparently more intellectual in some ways. "Target has protection. Five. Copy?"
"Copy," TJ responded, "permission to take out protection if needed?" He looked through the scope of his rifle, watching the road as he listened for Brock's reply.
"Do whatever is necessary to procure target. You must not fail, Asset." Brock responded, following the Wolf's actions on the built in suit-cam.
"Permission confirmed," TJ said and then went silent as he waited for his target. After thirteen minutes, a car could be seen in his scope, and when they got a little close, TJ could confirm that the target was in the vehicle. Taking and releasing a breath, TJ waited a moment before pulling the trigger, blowing out the tire of the vehicle and sending it over the cliff of the winding road. He waited for confirmation that target was deceased.
The sound of someone on the graveled hillside came to his filtered ears and a slender woman with red hair, dressed in a dark grey catsuit with armored belt, slid from the vehicle, carefully bending in to check over the man inside. She seemed oblivious to the Wolf above her on the road.
Finger around the trigger again, keeping very still and steady, the Wolf waited until the red haired woman pulled the scientist out of the vehicle. The way the woman moved was very familiar to TJ and suddenly the Wolf recalled the small girl he'd trained. So, Natalia had defected to the other side? Pushing away such thoughts, remembering the last time he'd let Natalia get away with beating him, TJ pulled the trigger again, the single shot going right through Natalia's side and directly into the target's chest.
With a gasp, Natalia whirled, hand going over her flank, she whispered, "Winter Wolf . . ." The woman launched herself towards her former teacher, pushing away the pain and the vertigo from blood loss.
Being far enough away, TJ didn't even engage the woman he'd trained. "Target down. Heading for extraction point," the Wolf reported, putting his rifle on his back and running from his spot on the cliff; he was nowhere in sight by the time Natalia made it to where he'd been.
Swearing in a variety of languages, the woman fell to her knees, bleeding profusely. She hit her extraction alarm before slipping into unconsciousness.
As the Winter Wolf came back to the extraction point, Brock met up with his charge. He nodded. "Confirmed kill, Wolf?" he growled softly.
"Target dead. Chest wound. Bled out in twenty-five seconds," TJ confirmed, passing his rifle over to his handler. "Mission success."
"And the guards? There were five of them and you don't even have a scratch on your tac gear," Brock looked over the man.
"Only one made it out of the wreckage. Shot through lower abdomen. Will bleed out in forty-five minutes if she does not receive aid," The Wolf reported, meeting his handler's eyes.
"You couldn't slit the woman's throat? You left a witness." Brock frowned but didn't hit TJ as his father or grandfather might have.
"Time spent at scene risked exposure," TJ replied simply, not apologizing for his decision.
Nodding, Brock said, "okay. Into the chair room, Wolf." The handler turned and headed for the punishment room, somewhere he'd never brought TJ to since taking over his handling.
TJ's fingers twitched by his side but he nodded once, knowing he couldn't argue it. He followed his handler into the punishment room, the chair sitting in the center. He stood in the room with his hands behind his back and feet shoulder length apart.
"Okay, your punishment, kid, is to clean up those damn blood stains. They bother me. Don't even know where the hell they came from." Brock shook his head.
Blinking slowly, TJ looked at the old stains, most of them faded or almost faded after this many years. His heart jumped at the reminder of his own trainer . . . the man who'd raised him as a child and then trained him as an assassin, the Winter Soldier. Nodding once, the Wolf got the cleaning supplies and started to wipe away the old blood stains of Predan and Winter Soldier.
"You don't have to do this geared up, Wolf," Brock rolled his eyes and handed over a simple uniform.
Standing once more, TJ nodded and took the uniform from Brock, stripping off his grey and black tactical gear, even removing his mask and goggles and setting them on the metal table next to the chair. He folded his gear and set it next to the mask and goggles. The Winter Wolf looked like he hadn't aged since he was about seventeen.
TJ liked the fact that Rumlow didn't hit him or mock him when he did something wrong. TJ quickly changed into the uniform, staying barefoot on the cool concrete floor and got back to cleaning the chair, his back muscles, lean and strong, quivering under the soft grey shirt.
A tall man with strawberry blond hair walked in, his blue eyes taking in both men. He smiled and nodded, "it is good to see a man taking his chores with composure. Hello. I am your new Commander." He strode over to TJ and stayed out of the soapy dripping. "And you are?"
Brock answered, "Winter Wolf. One of the Winter Soldier successes. I understand his predecessor lost his mind from overuse of the chair and killed his handler, sir."
TJ put his rag into the bucket of soapy water and stood up, head down in respect for the new commander of Hydra. The uniform that Brock had given him was nothing more than a pair of black leggings and a grey shirt, leaving nothing about the assassin's lean, inviting form, to the imagination. A faint sweet smell also seemed to come off the pretty brunet, one that most people who worked with the Winter Wolf got used to since it wasn't too strong, but to anyone new meeting him it was often one of the first things they noticed. The conversion injections seemed to be working after the years of usage.
"Mr. Pierce, the target was eliminated as well as four escorts. One escort was left bleeding out, with a slim chance of survival," Brock reported.
Nodding, Pierce strode over to TJ and studied him, smiling. "You are an Omega?" his voice came out as a soft purr.
Blinking, TJ glanced at Brock and then lifted his eyes to meet Pierce's. "That is what they keep calling me, Sir. I am unsure what it means."
"Ah," Pierce smiled and nodded. "Let me explain, Wolf. Have a seat . . . not in your cleaning mess. Over there," he gestured towards a control chair. "The human race can be divided into four designations for pack mentality and function. These four are the Alpha, leader of the pack so to speak and a very dominant, procreation instinct. An Alpha will tend to wish to be in charge, or at least guide others, especially in a mating relationship. Before Doctors Erskine and Kielmeyer discovered the designations, people erroneous said this was a male trait. But it has been proven that many females also have this Alpha designation."
Gesturing to Brock, Pierce said, "then we have the Beta, who makes up the general populace and are sometimes considered followers, though that, too, is misinformation. There are many leaders in the Beta designation. Generally, the Beta doesn't have a driving need to be in full charge or to produce offspring at a rapid pace. Thirdly is the Omega, otherwise known as a breeder. Omega males have a very unique internal body structure allowing them to bear offspring, like a female can. However, they cannot actually deliver the child without a cesarean section. Until a male Omega presents who is evolutionarily advanced enough to have a completed uterine-rectal channel, they will ever need medical assistance to deliver or die in the process."
Pierce reached out to lift TJ's face and inspect him. "You are seventeen? Eighteen?" he asked softly, but apparently that was a rhetorical question. Instead, he raised his voice and said, "the last designation is the Gamma, or infertile designation. Recently, in the late nineteen-eighties, they made a breakthrough and realized that a Gamma is really just one of the other designations, but sterile from genetics or birth defects. You, Winter Wolf, are an Omega . . . a breeder and defender."
TJ's brows furrowed and he licked his plush lips, meeting Pierce's eyes, "I . . . I can get pregnant?"
"Yes, Wolf," Pierce purred. "They have made you so. And the best chance of a pregnancy is if you mate with an Alpha. As a male Omega you should have a special passage leading from your rectum to your uterus, which is where the semen gets through. If you haven't, they will add one soon." Pierce stepped back and nodded. "You haven't mated yet?"
"No, sir, I am trained for mission purposes only," TJ replied, lowering his gaze once more. Something in his body told him to give Pierce the utmost respect, not even to look the man in the eye unless given permission to do so.
Nodding, Pierce reached out and gently stroked down TJ's cheek then neck. "Mr. Rumlow, make sure to get ahold of the best Omega suppressants for the Winter Wolf so he can continue his work. I will see to his more personal needs myself."
Not arguing, Brock nodded, "Yes, sir, Mr. Pierce. Suppressants."
"And make sure he has the longevity serum," Pierce added. "I think he'll be very happy to stay so young and pretty."
"He already has, sir," Brock informed the director.
TJ looked between the other men, looking confused. He wasn't really sure what they were talking about. Suppressants? Taking care of his personal needs? "Sir?" The Wolf asked, hoping that Brock or Pierce would be able to explain to him what all of this meant.
"I'll see you later, once you've finished your chores, Wolf. Brock, take good care of him." Pierce smiled and walked out of the door, looking very smug.
Brock let out breath and looked at TJ. "Well, that didn't go the way I foresaw." He looked over at the Winter Wolf.
"Did I do something wrong, Sir?" TJ asked, lifting his head to look at his handler.
"Not exactly," Brock said with a sigh. "Look, kid, you're going on medicine since we don't know if you've converted enough to get pregnant yet, so you can keep working."
"I will not be mating . . . so why put me on medicine to keep me from getting pregnant?" TJ shook his head, trying to figure everything out.
Meeting TJ's eyes, Brock said, "kid, you'll be mating regularly from now on. Mr. Pierce will be seeing to that. He just said so." The handler crossed his arms.
"Oh," TJ blinked and nodded once, getting up from his chair so he could resume cleaning the punishment chair, "yes, Sir. I will do as the Commander tells me."
"Good kid. You'll go far. Treat him good, and he'll treat you good back." Brock nodded, "try cleaning it off the floor, too, kid. The entire room before supper."
"Yes, Sir," TJ nodded and then started cleaning the floor, determined to make the entire room sparkle before supper time.